


One Shots for K Project

by yamarik



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-10-10 11:22:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamarik/pseuds/yamarik
Summary: Title is self-explanatory: it's a collection of one shots for K Project. Expect a lot of Fushimi/Yata.





	1. His Favorite Scent

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna mark this complete for now, but I may sporadically add more to this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate version of the fight between Fushimi and Yata at Ashinaka School (season 1, episode 5), in which Kamamoto deescalates things by saying what we were all thinking (or at least, what I thought when I happened to watch the dub version of this scene).

The two girls ran off, frightened, as Misaki stammered out an apology. Fushimi clicked his tongue at the sheer ridiculousness of that guy. Trying to be a gentleman when he was terrified of girls? Idiot. He was probably scaring them more than what’s-his-name had. 

As Misaki continued shouting at his companion, Fushimi stepped out into the open, grinning as a greeting popped into his brain. It was the perfect jibe for the moment, he was sure. 

“You know, I can still smell your virginity a mile away,” he called out. 

Misaki and the other guy both turned to face him. Misaki’s mouth was open in surprise, and he scowled, clearly planning on retorting something that had more aggression than wit when the fatty spoke up first. 

“As if you don’t love that smell, Fushimi-san.” 

Misaki’s scowl vanished, his face turned bright red, and his jaw slackened even more as his head snapped to his friend beside him so fast he had to have gotten whiplash. Fushimi was certain he was in a similar state, minus the blushing because he did not blush. Definitely not. The heat he felt in his face was certainly not a blush. Nope. 

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Fushimi managed to choke out. 

“Well, maybe I’m wrong,” the fatty- Kumamoto maybe?- said, “but it always seemed to me like one of the reasons you couldn’t fit in with our clan was jealousy. You never liked anyone else getting close to Yata-san, so if someone else got close enough to him to be having sex with him, well, wouldn’t that be really upsetting to you?” 

Fuck, since when was anyone in HOMRA that sharp? Well, Kusanagi was maybe, and Anna too, but the rest were supposed to all be as idiotic as Misaki, if not more so! 

Wait, if someone else had figured that much out, had Misaki as well? 

“W-wh-what the hell are you saying, Kamamoto?” Misaki stammered, grabbing onto his friend’s shirt. Oh right. It was _Kama_ moto. Not Kuma. Whoops. Well, at least Misaki was still in the dark it seemed. 

“I’m just saying I would think Fushimi-san would find the smell of your virginity comforting is all,” Kamamoto replied, putting his hands up as if in surrender. 

“Yes, it’s so comforting,” Fushimi said, resorting to sarcasm in order to try and cover up the fact that he was mentally screaming as he died a slow and painful death from the way things were going right now. He’d meant to get Misaki riled up like usual, not… whatever the hell this was! “In fact, you should make some Misaki-scented candles for aromatherapy since it’s such a nice smell.” 

The second the words left his mouth, Fushimi realized what a mistake they were. Namely because that was the same second both Misaki and Kamamoto both turned to stare at him in absolute shock. Misaki still had Kamamoto’s shirt-front bunched in his hands, and Kamamoto’s hands were still in the air as they gaped at Fushimi, and Fushimi just wanted the ground to swallow him up. Maybe he should go try and piss off Mikoto, since at least the red king’s fire would be a quick and merciful death. 

“Did you just say I smell nice?” Misaki finally asked, his voice empty with shell-shock. 

“Seriously?” Kamamoto howled from next to him, finally lowering his arms to pry Misaki off his shirt. “He just said something completely bizarre, and all you care about is the implication that you smell nice? God you two are gay!” 

“Shut up!” both Misaki and Fushimi yelled. They both looked at each other, startled to have been in sync, and then awkwardly turned away from each other, coughing and clearing their throats while they tried to pretend that hadn’t just happened. 

“W-whatever, I’m going to rendezvous with my colleagues, and so long as you two are out of here before we leave then I’ll just pretend this never happened, okay?” Fushimi huffed. 

“S-sounds good to me!” Misaki replied. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll look into making you some of those candles!” Kamamoto called after Fushimi as he started to walk away. The jeer was followed almost immediately by a complaint of pain and some minor arguing as Misaki presumably hit him. Fushimi didn’t look back to check. 

He found the others just as they exited the administration building with the headmaster’s office. 

“So, did you find out-” Awashima began, then frowned, looking at Fushimi in concern. When she spoke again, her words came out slowly. “Fushimi, are you alright?” 

“Perfectly,” he replied shortly. “Why, is something the matter?” 

“No, it’s just rare to see you blushing so profusely.” 

Goddamnit.


	2. Souvenirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yata brings home the worst souvenirs. Always.

Fushimi really should have known to be more specific. 

Actually, he really should have just gone ahead and put his foot down right from the start, from the very first time Yata went on a trip and brought him back a poop-shaped keychain because “it’s shitty, just like you!” 

But noooo, he had to be a total sucker and fall for that pouty face and the slight blush as Yata told him, “I just wanted to get you something so you’d know I was thinking of you even when we were apart.” 

Since when the hell was he such a sap? 

His better judgment curbed so easily, he allowed it to continue, and continue it did. Every time Yata went somewhere without Fushimi, whether with people from Homra or with his family or for his stupid skateboarding career, he always brought back a souvenir for Fushimi. And every time, without fail, it was the worst gift ever. 

Like the time Yata brought back some town’s specialty fish-flavored mochi. There was no way anyone, even someone who lacked taste buds and actually _liked_ fish, would ever enjoy such a snack (that Yata ate it up without a second thought when Fushimi rejected the gift did make him question his boyfriend’s sanity). 

Or the time Yata showed up with matching aloha shirts that were so hideously patterned that Fushimi couldn’t look at them with his glasses on lest he make his vision even worse. It had taken a bit of finagling for Fushimi to arrange a proper accident to completely destroy both shirts in one fell swoop. He’d had to sacrifice a couple other garments to the bleach mishap he’d eventually subjected the monstrosities to (and again, something had to be wrong with Yata, since he’d actually seemed _disappointed_ by the loss of the shirts). 

Or there was also the snake plushie that’s tail rattled when you pulled on a string, or the lava lamp shaped like a brain, or the paperweight which let out a banshee-like screech whenever it was touched. The first was regifted to Anna, the second was “accidentally” dropped out the window (“really Misaki, I have no idea how it fell off it’s table and rolled down the hall and then jumped over the sill”), and the last was brought to Scepter 4 to be checked for strain influences before being happily claimed by Gotou. All of which made Fushimi wonder if Yata’s head was screwed on right, and if there wasn’t something wrong with _his_ head for dating Yata. 

And now this. 

“Misaki, when you asked me what you wanted from the beach and I said whatever was fine, I meant like a conch shell or something. Not,” Fushimi gestured to the spectacle in front of him. “ _This_ ,” he finished. 

Yata flinched a little as the seagull in his arms struggling more vigorously. 

“Well you shoulda fuckin’ said that then!” the skater snapped in reply. 

Fushimi sighed and eased past Yata and the seagull to put on his shoes. Once they were on, he grabbed his keys and opened the door. 

“Alright, c’mon,” he said heavily, and lead the way out of their apartment. 

Twenty minutes later they were arriving at Scepter 4. 

Ten minutes after that, the seagull was safely in Scepter 4 custody and Awashima was giving Fushimi a lecture about wasting official resources on trivial matters. 

An hour after _that_ , the two men were back at home, and Yata had promised several times over that he wouldn’t get Fushimi any more souvenirs. Ever. Cross his heart. 

That night though, Fushimi found himself eagerly anticipating Yata’s next trip and whatever strange gift it might bring. After all, it was proof that Yata still thought of him even when they were apart. And also, those gifts did make some really amusing stories.


	3. The Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of dreaming, Yata finally meets his soulmate.

Yata was pretty sure he had the _worst_ soul-bond. It had all sorts of fancy nuances and whatnot; it was so damn complicated. 

For one, they both had to be asleep and dreaming at the same time for it to work. Which was all well and good, except his soulmate kept _the weirdest_ hours. He wasn’t entirely sure his soulmate wasn’t actually actively avoiding him. Boy would that suck. 

In fact, when Yata had first turned 16, he had begun to think he had no soulmate at all. Soul-bonds were supposed to appear when the older of the pair turned 16, and for years before that he’d already started checking for all the common types of soul-bonds in case his soulmate was older than him. He’d diligently kept an eye out for a name to appear on his body, for any signs of writing that wasn’t his own, for words someone would someday say to him, for injuries he hadn’t accumulated. He’d spent hours in his room, trying to think as loudly as he could in case it was telepathic, had wandered all over town talking to all kinds of people in case it was something to do with first contact, he’d done everything he could think of, but to no avail. 

And then one night there had been a boy in his dream. 

The other stupid thing about his soul-bond was how it limited communication. The boy had shown up in four of Yata’s dreams, and then one night Yata found himself in a dream that was not his own, and it had finally hit him that maybe this was his soul-bond. He’d immediately tried to introduce himself and bombard the boy with questions, only to find that no sound came out. Talking only worked if it was a line within the dream itself, or if it was a comment on the dream. 

They didn’t even know each others’ names thanks to that limitation. Yata rarely had dreams where he was himself, and while his soulmate seemed to dream as himself, they were usually nightmares about a terrifying man who only ever referred to the soulmate as “my little monkey”. 

It also didn’t help that since they met in dreams, they had no control over their interactions. 

When Yata had first told his mother about his soul-bond, she’d told him how lucky he was, to get to know his soulmate in such a way. He could see his soulmate’s deepest thoughts and emotions, the ones that resonated in his very soul. 

But Yata didn’t feel lucky having to try and get to know his soulmate through something so vague. 

Luckily, his mom had gone and bought him a bunch of books about dreaming. She’d sat down and read them, telling him enough little facts until he was interested enough to read them himself. It was thanks to her efforts that he first discovered lucid dreaming. He had never known before about theories to induce it. He’d gotten used to doing “reality checks” all the time in order to program his brain to notice when it was dreaming, and he’d started keeping a dream journal (complete with detailed accounts of anything he or his soulmate said to each other), and he had even taken up meditation, even though his friends all laughed at him for it. But he wanted to be able to communicate with his soulmate. He also tried to encourage his dreams to take on certain settings so he could show his soulmate his life, falling asleep telling himself he was going to dream about his friends, or about school and later his job, or whatever he wanted to share. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. 

The one effect all Yata’s efforts did have was that he’d become able to move freely through his soulmate’s dreams. At the beginning, he’d only been a passive observer when his soulmate was the dreamer. However, as he practiced lucid dreaming, he began to be aware of his body and was able to move it. He’d been so glad when this change occurred, because it was horrible watching his soulmate fight alone against his nightmares. The look on his soulmate’s face the first time Yata had punched that terrible man had been priceless. 

Over time, that was how they got closer. Yata took every opportunity he could to offer up comfort to his soulmate. He tried to respect the other boy’s boundaries, but after a particularly bad nightmare, he’d found himself unable to hold back and had hugged his soulmate, trying to soothe him. When his soulmate had commented “This feels nice”, Yata had taken that as encouragement, and had repeated the action in subsequent dreams. Even when his soulmate had good dreams, as seemed to happen more and more often, Yata still stayed by his side, holding his hand. 

No matter how lucid the dream was, though, the soul bond still refused to let them talk freely. Any attempts to ask about his soulmate’s life failed. Sometimes he’d start coughing, sometimes he’d lose all sound, and sometimes he’d say something completely different than he meant to. Once he even spoke another language somehow. That had been freaky. 

It had been four years now, and he still knew so little about his soulmate. He thought his soulmate lived somewhat close, since there were some landmarks they recognized in each others’ dreams. He knew they played some of the same video games for the same reason. He also knew what his soulmate looked like, which was gorgeous. And he had figured out that his soulmate had a dry, sassy, cynical personality thanks to his snarky commentary on Yata’s dreams. He suspected his soulmate had an unhappy past, thanks to his nightmares and the way the tormenting man looked similar to him. And he knew that his soulmate had a cuddly side from the way he’d been so receptive to Yata’s hugs. But Yata wanted so much _more_. He wanted to have a long talk, about real things, not about whatever they were dreaming. He wanted to make food for his soulmate, to show off his cooking skills and have them be appreciated by the person who was supposed to be most special to him. He wanted _reality_ , and their soul-bond didn’t grant them that. 

And to top it all off, he was pretty sure his soulmate had started pushing him away. Everything had been going so well, but then… 

Then his soulmate had had a nightmare. Not just any nightmare. _The_ nightmare. Normally when they entered each other’s dreams, they started off as an observer. Over time though, they had both learned how to change it so they could participate in each other’s dreams. A while back, however, they’d discovered that if one of them was dreaming _about_ the other, that when the other joined in the dream they would enter the role they’d been in (Yata did not want to talk about how they’d discovered this, thank you very much. It had been quite the revelation, sure, but god was that embarrassing). And on that night, the night of _the_ nightmare, Yata had entered the dream to find himself tied down and at the mercy of the terrible man. It had been shocking in many ways, because the tormentor hadn’t shown up in his soulmate’s dreams in a while, and also he’d noticed that the man only ever was cruel to his soulmate. In past nightmares, people had come and gone, one woman in particular, and they’d had perfectly normal interactions with the evil man. Even Yata himself had experienced it, intervening and having the man back off immediately, saying he’d only been joking around, only been playing with “his little monkey”. But on _that_ night, the man had held a praying mantis above Yata’s face, had tied fireworks in his hair, had laughed horribly at Yata’s fear and discomfort. And through it all the soulmate had been watching from inside a cage, just as helpless as Yata himself. 

Before _that_ night, his soulmate had seemingly made efforts to match Yata’s sleep schedule. But since then, he didn’t do that anymore. He was rarely in Yata’s dreams after that, and when Yata started sleeping at weird hours to try and match him, he found that his soulmate hardly seemed to be sleeping at all. On the occasions where they did share dreams, his soulmate didn’t hold his hand, remained stonily silent, shrugged Yata off whenever he tried to make contact. 

And then Yata found his own dreams permeated by nightmares similar to his soulmate’s. The man was there, but he did nothing but watch and laugh. He didn’t have to, because the true pain came from the dream version of his soulmate, who used magic flames to burn Yata, to burn himself, and words that became daggers as they left his mouth, travelling to stab at Yata over and over. His lucid dreaming came in handy, allowing him to dodge and deflect the knives that would surely have stabbed him were he a helpless normal dreamer, and he even made magic flames of his own to try and protect himself, but while the knives themselves missed their targets, the words didn’t. _Idiot. Stupid. Annoying. Loud. Obnoxious. Useless. Pathetic. Weak. Tiresome. Unwanted. I’d never love someone like **you**_. 

And then Yata was avoiding his soulmate just as actively as his soulmate seemed to be avoiding him. He didn’t want his soulmate to see such nightmares. Or worse, to confirm that his fears were real. 

And then yesterday had happened. 

It had been Yata’s day off, a lazy afternoon where his lack of sleep finally caught up to him and caused him to power down in the middle of his apartment, just falling asleep in the most comfortable place. He’d fallen almost directly into one of his nightmares, and then, when the man’s laughter was reaching its peak, he felt his soulmate enter the dream. 

He always felt it when his soulmate entered one of his dreams, and if he left. It was one of the things that had made him start to suspect it was their soul-bond. Why else would this strange boy repeatedly invade his dreams, making him aware of his presence each time? Why else would he enter dreams that weren’t his own, and why else would there be the limitations on speaking? He knew some soul-bonds were like that. Two of his friends had been soulmates but had been completely unaware of it for the longest time because of the limitations of their soul-bond. 

He could see the shock on his soulmate’s face as he saw the dream progressing, and then suddenly, his soulmate took control, stopping the flow of word-daggers. The man’s laughter had continued, and Yata had braced himself for the worst, only to hear- 

“Tch. Idiot. I wouldn’t dream of losing you to him if I didn’t already love you.” 

And then the flames were washed away in a sea of blue magic and the laughter was cut off and it was just the two of them. As his soulmate tended a wound in Yata’s shoulder where one of the knives had made it past his defenses (it was a lot harder to keep going when he knew his soulmate was there to say that stuff himself, okay?), Yata had found himself murmuring “God I wanna meet you.” He was surprised the soul bond let that one through, but he supposed it was a comment on the dream in a way. 

The soul-bond didn’t let his soulmate’s next words through, but Yata was still sure he got them anyway. Something about the confident and slightly smug expression on his soulmate’s face gave it away. 

_You will_. 

* * *

And now it was just another day at work, surrounded by the smells of cheese and tomato sauce and grease and placing peculiar topping combinations on pizzas. Yata was still sleep-deprived, and had a headache, and to top it all off there were some new hires that were supposed to be starting today. Mostly drivers, but there was supposed to be someone new in the kitchen as well. Ugh. The last guy they’d hired for the kitchen had reorganized everything and tried to turn the place into some kind of gourmet restaurant. They were still finding things he’d moved to odd places, and he’d been gone for almost a month now. 

Before the shift started, there was a staff meeting, and as expected the new hires were introduced. Yata paid no attention, being too tired to give a damn about a bunch of people who would probably be gone when the next college semester was over. 

He paid no attention that is, until an all-too-familiar sullen tone said. “Fushimi Saruhiko. Delivery driver. Whatever.” 

Yata’s eyes snapped open, and he stared. There he was. His soulmate. In the flesh. His soulmate- Fushimi- didn’t look at him at all, and it made Yata wonder if yesterday’s dream had been, well, a dream. But those last words that hadn’t been uttered… Maybe he’d known this was coming? 

The staff meeting ended, and suddenly Yata had energy. He was on his feet, and to the shock of all his coworkers, he was grabbing Fushimi’s arm and calling out his name to stop him. 

“Yes?” Fushimi said, finally looking him in the eye. And wow, Yata had known from four years of shared dreams that this guy had a piercing gaze, but the reality left him stunned and sent all thoughts flying out the window. They were blocking the exit from the staff room, and Yata knew he needed to say something or let Fushimi go so that everyone else could leave, but… 

More than one jaw hit the ground when Yata blurted out his next line. 

“Will you go out with me?!” 

He’d half-shouted it. And while it was known that Yata was gay, it was also known that he was notoriously bad at dealing with people he found attractive- almost as bad as he was at dealing with girls. Only Fushimi kept his composure, a smirk forming on his face before he delivered his response. When Yata heard it, he had to laugh, wondering how long Fushimi had planned that line. If he knew anything from their shared dreams, probably a while. He was sure his coworkers all thought he’d gone mad, but in that moment he didn’t care. He’d finally met his soulmate, and the guy was perfect, as exemplified by that witty response. 

“In your dreams, shortstack.” 

Yeah, Yata would definitely be seeing him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might actually write an extended version of this one shot. Someday. Maybe. If I ever finish my other WIPs, lol.


	4. Funfairs Suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events at a funfair lead to a strange rumor at Scepter 4.

Fushimi didn’t really see why Scepter 4 was needed to escort this visiting dignitary. Normal police would surely have sufficed. And he _really_ didn’t see why the hell they needed to escort the idiot to a fucking funfair of all places. 

If he’d known he was in for this kind of shit after the fall of the slates, he would have just told Douhan to fuck off and let the other Jungle members kill him. He hadn’t survived all that just to be stuck babysitting middle-aged children, hell no. 

Currently the dignitary was gravitating towards one of those “crowd-guesser” people. This one was apparently telling members of the crowd information that would help them identify the person they would marry. What a load of crap. But, as part of the dignitary’s escort, the most Fushimi could do was warn the man that such a thick cluster of people was a potential safety disaster, and when his warning was ignored, follow after him along with the others on the security detail: Benzai, Gotou, Fuse, and Kamou. The five of them stuck close as their protectee drifted closer and closer to the stage. 

“You in the pink t-shirt, I’m sensing someone who loves spaghetti in your future!” the performer bellowed. “Ah, I see that rings a bell! Excellent! And you in the gray hoodie, oh dear, your future wife is someone you currently don’t get along with, who likes EDM. Good luck, my friend!” 

The crowd was eating it up. They “oo”ed at the first person’s prediction, and laughed sympathetically at the second. It was all a total farce though. The man was probably just guessing based on his observations of the people in the crowd, and keeping his guesses vague so they were harder to disprove. Typical pseudoscience. It was like horoscopes. 

“And how about the grumpy-looking policeman there!” the performer continued, and Fushimi’s scowl deepened. That was almost definitely him. “Aww, don’t scowl like that, there’s no need to be shy!” 

Fushimi looked to his colleagues for help, but all of them looked away. 

“Haha, is he talking about you, Fushimi-san?” the dignitary laughed jovially. “Go ahead and let him tell you! The worst that could happen is that he’ll say you’re gonna be forever alone, and even that just means you can fool around as much as you like!” 

Fushimi felt like killing someone. 

“Alright Mr. Grumpy Policeman!” the performer called, unaware of the situation going on below him. “Hmmm, well, I hope you’re gay because it looks like you’re gonna marry another guy. He’s a summer child- a few months older than you, but shorter, very energetic, a bit of a loudmouth, is someone very close to you, and has red hair!” 

It was a struggle for Fushimi to keep his scowl in place. There was only one person that could possibly be. But how-? 

“Are you satisfied now?” Fushimi asked the dignitary as the crowd-guesser moved on to another victim. “We do have a schedule to keep. You need to be at the airport in an hour and with average traffic rates we can’t afford to dilly-dally.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” the dignitary sighed. 

As Fushimi led the way out of the crowd, he didn’t see how, behind him, his colleagues were all looking at each other in shock. 

“Wait, did he just say Fushimi’s gonna marry…” Gotou hissed to the others, before looking around and then mouthing to them “ _Doumyouji_?” 

* * *

When Fushimi was finally free of his duties, night was already setting in. Instead of heading back to his dorm, he went out, leaving the Scepter 4 campus and travelling across town a ways to a certain park. He found his way to a bench, plopping down abruptly and startling the bench’s other occupant. 

“Geez Saru, can’t you at least make some noise when you walk?” Yata asked by way of greeting. “You scared me half to de-” Yata cut off, peering at Fushimi in concern. “Hey, Saru, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Fushimi grumbled. “Just had an annoying day.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always annoyed, just part of your charm, but seriously, what’s wrong? You’re definitely in a worse mood than normal.” 

Fushimi sighed, but he caved. It was a futile effort to try and resist Yata. The shorter man could be so damned stubborn. 

“That guy we had to watch wanted to go to the funfair. He dragged us over to some performer making up things about who the audience might marry, and I was singled out.” 

“Yeah, you would hate that,” Yata laughed, but he quickly went quiet again, sensing that there was more. 

“I did,” Fushimi agreed. “But what he implied… It’s annoying,” he paused, and Yata let him take the moment to sort out his thoughts. “I wanted to wait to do this, but now I don’t feel like I have a choice,” he finished, and then shoved into Yata’s hand. “Here.” 

“Wait, you got me something?” Yata asked. “But it’s not even a special occasion or anything…” 

“Like I said, I was going to wait. I thought it would be a good anniversary gift until today.” 

“Saru, our anniversary’s not for another three weeks.” 

“Whatever, just open it.” 

Yata complied, then stared at the open box in his hand. 

“I’m not getting down on one knee, even if it is traditional,” Fushimi informed Yata. “It’s undignified.” 

“Why would you get down on one knee?” Yata asked, finally looking away from the ring he’d been offered. 

Fushimi put a hand to his face, his fingertips just brushing the bridge of his nose as he sighed. “Misaki, are you this idiotic on purpose?” he asked. Before Yata could interrupt with the “Hey!” of protest that question would no doubt merit, Fushimi continued. “Use your brain for once. What was I just talking about? And why do people usually get down on one knee when offering a ring?” 

It took Yata a long moment, but finally his frown of confusion vanished and was replaced with the wide eyes of enlightenment. 

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” he groaned. “Wow, Saru, would it kill you to propose to me like a normal person?” 

“Probably,” Fushimi mumbled, but Yata wasn’t listening. He was pulling the ring out and holding it in his hand. 

“Hey Saru, can I put it on?” he asked excitedly. 

“Do whatever you want,” Fushimi muttered, trying to ignore the butterflies of anxiety rising in his stomach. What if it didn’t fit? What if it didn’t suit Yata, or if Yata didn’t like it, or- 

The ring slid easily onto Yata’s fourth finger, until it rested snugly between the last joint and the knuckle. As Yata held his hand out to admire the ring, swinging his legs happily, it seemed to Fushimi as if it were natural for the metal band to be there, as if it had belonged there all along. Maybe it had, in a way. 

“Heh, guess this means we’ll be stuck together from now on, huh?” Yata laughed giddily. 

“Idiot,” Fushimi replied. “We were stuck together from the very start.” 

* * *

When the members of Scepter 4 received “Save the Date” notices regarding their colleague’s wedding, more than a few of them were surprised to see that Fushimi was engaged to Homra’s vanguard, especially given the rumors that had been floating around claiming he had a thing for someone much closer to home. And if Doumyouji had to leave early to deal with his inability to stop crying from the sheer relief of the card, well, it wasn’t like anyone knew anything about that.


	5. Light a Candle For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief sequel to the first one shot in this, "His Favorite Scent"

When Fushimi came into work that day, there was something on his desk that should not have been there. 

It stopped him in his tracks when he saw it, and then he heard the giggling. It was just a few suppressed twitters, but it was enough. His eyes narrowed to slits as he wondered why this object should cause his colleagues such amusement. Cautiously, he approached. 

The object, which appeared to be a candle- the kind that comes in a jar and has a little lid to preserve the scent- did not do anything when Fushimi approached; the lid did not spring open to reveal some jack-in-the-box type mechanism, it didn’t explode, it just sat there like an ordinary candle. Still, he could not let his guard down. There must be some trick to it. 

It was only when Fushimi was just in front of the candle that he finally saw it: the label. He clicked his tongue in irritation. 

“I’d like you all to know, you’re not at all funny,” he announced to the room. 

* * *

A month after Anna’s awakening as the new red king, Yata came into the empty bar and found a weird candle on the counter. It was a scented candle, a nice bright red. Probably cinnamon or something like that. Curious, Yata picked up the candle without bothering to read the label and sniffed it. 

“Huh, it doesn’t smell like anything,” he said, taking another whiff. 

Just then Kusanagi came in, and paled at the sight of Yata sniffing the candle. 

“Er, Yata, that’s-” Kusanagi began. 

But it was too late, still not smelling anything, Yata had taken a look at the label. 

_Misaki’s Virginity_

“WHAT THE HELL?!?” Yata yelped. 

“Er, about that, I can explain,” Kusanagi said weakly. 

“KUSANAGI-SAN, WHY THE HELL DO YOU HAVE CANDLES THAT-” 

“Are scented like you?” Kusanagi said. “It was Kamamoto’s idea. As you know, the bar’s been struggling lately, with all the interference from our enemies, and we need a bit of extra income. Kamamoto suggested we make some candles and sell ‘em is all.” Kusanagi wisely chose not to mention that Kamamoto’s suggestion had been meant as a joke and that Kusanagi himself was the one who had seen the potential profit in such a plan. 

“Oh, so there’s candles scented like everybody then?” Yata asked. Kusanagi wasn’t sure whether or not to correct him, but no matter, Yata was already continuing. “Still, why’d you have to give mine such a weird name? No one would ever buy such a weird candle.” 

“Ummmm…” Kusanagi knew he should remain silent, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying something. And for once, Yata understood all too well, judging by the look of horror that dawned on his face. 

“Wait, no one’s bought any, right?” he asked, his voice a mere squeak. 

“We’ve… sold a few,” Kusanagi admitted. 

“What?!” Yata screeched. “To who?” 

“Whom.” 

“Whatever. Just tell me who bought the goddamn candles!” 

“Well, the silvers bought one,” Kusanagi began, ignoring the expletive Yata spat in response. “They said they thought it might amuse their king when he returns, and also they wanted to help support our clan. The blue king also bought one. He said something about wanting it as a sample… And then there was another order from Scepter 4, something about a gag gift, and a mystery order. It was picked up by some kid with a parrot who couldn’t stop laughing at it. Strangely enough, the parrot seemed to be snickering too.” 

“But you only sold just those four?” Yata asked, seemingly relieved. 

“Well…” Kusanagi said. 

* * *

Hidaka had taken a long vacation to go visit his family, and when he got back to Scepter 4 he found his coworkers looking distinctly uncomfortable and a strange smell permeating the air. 

“Hey guys, I’m back,” he greeted. “Man, why does it smell like…” Hidaka paused, and sniffed the air. The smell was somehow familiar. “Like…” Another sniff, and he finally placed the scent. “Wait, is it just me or does that smell like Homra’s vanguard? Seriously, what’s going on?” 

Everyone was painfully silent, but they all glanced towards where Fushimi was typing away, ignoring everyone like usual. After a long moment, Fushimi looked up, noticed Hidaka had followed everyone else’s gazes, and said calmly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Oooooookay?” Hidaka said, because Fushimi sounded almost smug, as if he certainly did know what Hidaka was talking about. Then he noticed something else. “Wait, Fushimi-san, what’s that candle on your desk?” 

Fushimi’s eyes went steely, but he had a smirk on his face as he said, with finality, “No. Idea.” 

As Fushimi turned back to his work, Hidaka heard a mutter of, “Shoulda known when we pranked him with that candle that he might actually burn it just to get back at us.” 

Confused, Hidaka headed to his desk. He didn’t see the smile that was on Fushimi’s face. Sure, getting back at his coworkers was nice, but this really _was_ Fushimi’s favorite scent. 

Good thing Fushimi had dozens more of these candles in the closet of his dorm room.


	6. Get Your Mind Out of the Gutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Fushimi made things dirty and embarrassed Yata and one time Yata turned the tables on him.

I: It happened by accident, really. For some reason, the former silver king had decided to orchestrate a friendly baseball game with all the clans. It went pretty well, considering that the team picking had almost turned into a disaster when Weissman and Neko almost ended up on different teams, and about a minute later the remaining J-rankers of Jungle showed up to join in the fun. But soon enough, they had their teams, which were basically the red and silver clans plus that kid Sukuna vs Scepter 4, Hirasaka (who the captain had hired), and Mishakuji. Not surprisingly, there was a lot of good-natured taunting going around, as well as some not-so-good-natured taunting. And no, not _all_ of it was between Fushimi and Yata. Just most of it.

After a couple innings, they all stopped for a water break, and that was when it happened. Fushimi and Yata, having reconciled since the Slates were destroyed, ended up sitting together, not too far from the rest of Homra. Yata, who had been playing as his team’s pitcher and had managed to strike out five different people from the Scepter 4 team, couldn’t resist a little bit of bragging. 

“Heh, I’m pretty good at pitching, don’t you think Saru?” he asked just a little too loudly. And while it was obvious exactly what Yata meant, Fushimi couldn’t help but take things another way. 

“I don’t know, I’ve always thought you would do a better job batting,” he replied. Yata frowned, puzzled, since he’d hit two foul balls before he finally got a good hit when he’d been up to bat earlier. 

“What, are you saying you think I’m bad at pitching?” Yata accused. 

“On the field, no,” Fushimi replied, but before he could say more, Kusanagi interrupted him. 

“Fushimi,” Kusanagi said sternly, “our king is still a little young to be hearing that kind of talk. And frankly, I think the rest of us would rather not know.” 

“Huh?” Yata asked, confused. “What kind of talk? Kusanagi-san, what do you mean?” 

Fushimi leaned in close and whispered in Yata’s ear, “It’s an innuendo, idiot. Pitching and batting are another way to refer to topping and bottoming.” 

“Another way to-? Wha-wha-whaaaaaa?” Yata sputtered, his face going ashen in shock. It was so cute Fushimi couldn’t resist continuing. 

“Though if you’re so worried about your batting, I could teach you how to hit a home run,” he offered, trying to sound innocent. It was hard though, especially when he could feel Kusanagi’s glare trying to disintegrate him. 

“Huh, but you couldn’t even hit the ball earlier,” Yata asked, frowning in confusion. “I didn’t even have to try to strike you out. It’d be harder to throw it so you could actually hit it.” 

“That’s because I wasn’t trying to hit it,” Fushimi muttered under his breath. After all, if he struck out, that meant this stupid game could be over that much sooner. 

“What was that?” Yata asked. 

“I was just saying that I know the theory so I should be able to teach you just fine. But if you’d rather go slow, we can work on hitting one base at a time.” 

Yata stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. 

“You say some weird shit sometimes,” he said. “But if you can really-” 

“It was another innuendo, idiot,” Fushimi interrupted. 

At that, Yata’s face turned a shade of red so bright it almost looked like he was using his aura. 

And that had been the moment Fushimi realized he had just found a new favorite game. 

* * *

II: The second time happened more easily than Fushimi had expected. He’d thought he would have to really work to insert something inadvertently dirty into their conversation, but it happened so naturally it was almost like it was meant to happen. 

They’d been at the arcade, and as usual, things got competitive almost immediately. They tried a few different games, each racking up their own wins and losses. Yata managed to button mash his way to victory in one of the fighting games they played, and won at DDR, skee-ball, whack-a-mole, and a drumming game they tried. Fushimi meanwhile won the two shooting games they tried (one had zombies so it was an easy win), unleashed perfect combos on the other fighting game, managed to shoot three hoops more than Yata, and destroyed the shorter at the one guitar game. They were tied in victories, and decided to have an air hockey showdown before they called it a day. 

As the two men faced off at the air hockey table, neither of them could gain the upper hand. They both defended their goals like their lives were on the line, refusing to let so much as a single shot get past them. Finally, the table ran out of time before either of them scored. 

“Shall we try again?” Fushimi had suggested, because neither of them would be satisfied with a tie, both in this match and in their day at the arcade. 

“Hell yeah!” Yata retorted, already feeding some coins into the machine. “This time, you’re going down, Saru!” 

“Oh really?” Fushimi replied. “Well, if it’s going down on you, I suppose I don’t mind.” 

“Heh,” Yata laughed, and Fushimi thought he was going to have to explain yet again, but apparently Yata wasn’t completely oblivious because all of a sudden he froze. “Wait, you don’t mean like…” he said slowly, trailing off with his eyes wide in mortification. 

Needless to say, Fushimi won the air hockey match. 

* * *

III: It might not have happened if it hadn’t been for the rain. Fushimi and Yata had met up for lunch, and then Yata had offered to walk Fushimi back to work. They’d been about halfway there when they ended up getting caught in a sudden downpour. Between the rain and water splashed up by passing cars, they were soaked to the bone long before they reached Scepter 4. 

“You’d better get a change of clothes here and wait for this to stop,” Fushimi said as they approached the gates to Scepter 4. 

“Are you kidding?” Yata whined. Clan alliances and the absence of sanctums aside, he still avoided the Scepter 4 headquarters whenever he could. “I’m not going in there!” 

“Then I guess you’ll get sick,” Fushimi drawled. “Or not. I forgot, idiots don’t catch colds, do they?” 

“Shut up!” Yata shot back. “I just- well what clothes am I supposed to change into, anyways? It’s not like I’m gonna wear one of those stupid shitty uniforms you guys wear!” 

“You can borrow some of my clothes,” Fushimi replied. “Our dorms are on the grounds here as well, remember?” 

“I- I know that!” Yata snapped, his voice cracking. He offered no further protest as they continued on towards the dorm. 

Once inside, the two of them spent a minute wringing out their clothes and hair as best they could. It was almost comical how Yata began the process by shaking himself like a wet dog. Afterwards, they headed to Fushimi’s room, trying to ignore the squelching of their socks within their soaked shoes. 

Yata ended up insisting they change one at a time, claiming Fushimi would make it weird if they changed together. And it wasn’t like Fushimi could argue with that, because given half a chance of course he would. It was fun watching Yata short-circuit. 

Fushimi changed first, and once he was in his spare uniform he got out a v-neck sweater, a pair of briefs, and some jeans for Yata to wear, and left the shorter to get dressed while he headed to the special squad’s office to get back to work. However, he was only there for about five minutes before Yata barged in, wearing the shirt Fushimi had left for him but still clad in his waterlogged cargo shorts. The jeans Fushimi had lent him were brandished in his hand. 

“Saru!” he yowled. “How the hell am I supposed to get into your pants?” 

It was obvious what his intended meaning was. But the set-up was just too perfect, and well, it wasn’t like Fushimi didn’t live for moments like this. 

“Simple,” he replied, turning his gaze back to his laptop. “Just ask.” 

“Huh?” Yata asked as every other sound in the room stopped. Where moments before the other members of the special squad had all been busy with work or office gossip, suddenly they were all silent and listening. After a moment, Gotou wolf-whistled, and apparently something clicked in Yata’s brain at that because he began sputtering. 

“No! Not like that! I meant-” He squinted his eyes shut, then suddenly shouted, “They’re too freaking tight you underfed bastard!” With that he threw the jeans at Fushimi, though his throw fell short and the pants landed safely a few feet away. 

“Ah, is that so?” Fushimi asked. “You should be more clear about what you’re saying. But the offer still stands, just so you know.” 

“Waa!” Yata yelped, and dropped to a crouch with his ears covered, hiding his face in his knees. It was too late though, everyone had already seen how much he was blushing. 

Normally Fushimi disliked the rain, since it brought on all sorts of inconvenience, but that particular afternoon, he rather liked it. 

* * *

IV: Somewhere along the way, the two of them ended up dating. They weren’t sure how it happened, or when, but one day when one of the guys from Homra was teasing them about going on a date they’d looked at each other and realized that it really was a date, and it wasn’t even their first. For the most part, Fushimi enjoyed dating Yata. But one thing he did not enjoy was how Yata insisted on spending time at the bar with all the other thugs, and he demanded that Fushimi come with him at least some of the time. 

Which was exactly why Fushimi was stuck sitting at the bar, listening to everyone chatter and trying to dodge their attempts to include him. He knew they didn’t really give a damn about his opinion and were only trying to bond with him because Yata had told them not to make him feel left out. He was bored out of his mind, and he couldn’t even use his PDA as a diversion since it was low on battery and he’d forgotten his charger. How annoying. 

Yata sat down next to him suddenly, plonking down a glass of beer for them to share. Although Yata liked beer, the aftertaste got to him after a while, and that combined with his lightweight tendencies meant he could never finish a drink on his own. As Yata continued chatting with the guys about something useless or other- it sounded like they were discussing some implausible theory regarding the ambiguous ending of a recent action movie- Fushimi gratefully took a drink of the beer. 

“Except how could he have saved the world if Captain Jacobs may not have even been the real villain?” Bandou was asking. “Agent Wilson probably died there, so how are we supposed to know?” 

“But that’s what I’m saying!” Kamamoto retorted excitedly. “If you pay attention to the upper left corner of the screen, there’s a small shadow that appears for a couple of frames, like something was flying overhead. And who do we know has a stealth jet? Captain Jacobs’ best friend. All I’m saying is, his friend totally knew what was going on the whole time. Maybe he was the real villain all along, or maybe he was there to rescue Agent Wilson. Either way, the guy knows what’s going on. Just wait for the sequel, you’ll see.” 

“Holy shit,” Yata replied. “Kamamoto, you just blew my mind.” 

Finally, something Fushimi could entertain himself with. 

“Forget your mind, if it’s me I can blow a lot more than that,” he said, pointedly looking down to make sure his meaning was clear. Sure enough, Yata understood, because he fell off his barstool. 

“Ugh, get a room!” Eric groaned. 

“J-just ignore him,” Yata said, his voice an octave higher than usual as he got to his feet. “Saru just says things like that.” 

“Well if you want him to shut up, taking him up on that offer would probably be a good way to do it,” Fujishima pointed out. 

They left quickly after that, despite the fact that Yata had yet to even touch their beer. 

* * *

V: Somehow or other, whenever meetings between the different clans occurred, the strain horse always came up. Always. Sometimes it was to argue about the horse’s name. Sometimes it was to discuss the horse’s powers and theorize as to how it became a strain. But, more often than not, Anna wanted to hear of the horse’s activities and ask if she could go visit it. And almost always, Munakata agreed. 

At first Fushimi hadn’t really expected Anna’s visits to affect him at all. It’s not like the girl didn’t already know her way to the Scepter 4 stables; she’d certainly snuck in there enough times in the past, after all. But he hadn’t accounted for the fact that Homra wasn’t about to let their former king go around on her own, especially not when her destination was what used to be enemy territory. She always had an escort when she came, and somehow that escort always included Yata. And so somehow, Fushimi always joined the (totally unnecessary) greeting party. 

As Anna talked to the horse and fed it carrots, the various clansmen all stood back, giving her enough distance so as to have some privacy but staying close enough to intervene if the horse got up to something (again) or if there was any danger. They chatted amongst themselves as they waited. 

“I wonder if the Captain will let her ride that horse,” Kamo mused. “I bet she’d like that.” 

“Oh, Kamo’s dad-instincts have kicked in!” Hidaka teased. 

“But how is she supposed to ride without a saddle?” Enomoto asked. 

“Pfft, like our king needs a saddle,” Chitose boasted. “Anna’s ridden that horse before without one, and she didn’t have any problems.” 

“But was it comfortable for her?” Fuse asked. 

“That is a good point,” Fujishima agreed. 

“Man, I’d like to try horseback riding someday,” Doumyouji sighed. “I used to love horse movies as a kid, and it was kinda my dream to ride bareback down the beach. It’d be even cooler to do that on a horse with wings.” 

“Yeah, except doesn’t that horse always stomp on your face?” Bandou asked. 

“Hey, I seem to recall you getting stomped on too!” Doumyouji retorted. 

“Bareback riding, huh?” Kamamoto mused. “That does seem like it might be kinda cool. Whatcha think, Yata-san?” 

“I think a skateboard is cooler, but riding bareback might not be too bad,” Yata replied, loud as ever. 

“Good to know I don’t need to buy condoms then,” Fushimi said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. 

Everyone burst into laughter as Yata turned white and then red in short succession. He glared at Fushimi, his lips pursed petulantly. 

“I hate you,” Yata muttered. Fushimi could only grin at that. 

* * *

1: There were many things Yata loved about his boyfriend; he could wax poetic about Fushimi all day, and he wasn’t even a poems kind of person. But there were certain things that really _really_ got on his nerves. At the moment, the number one thing on that list was Fushimi’s singular habit of turning the most innocuous things into something dirty. 

And sure, they were dating, so it wasn’t like things were gonna be perpetually G-rated between them or anything, he knew that. But even so, talking about that stuff was embarrassing. And to do so openly, and in front of everyone they knew? Yeah, Fushimi was a terrible boyfriend. Yata could barely show his face in public anymore, and he definitely couldn’t watch baseball without blushing. 

But it was okay, because Yata had a plan for some sweet, sweet revenge. He’d spent far more time than he’d wanted talking to the guys and learning all sorts of dirty jokes and double entendres to use on Fushimi and embarrass him back. Vengeance would be Yata’s. 

They’d gone out drinking that night, and were now back at Yata’s crummy apartment since Fushimi was super clingy when he was drunk or even just tipsy, and so he didn’t want to go home alone. It was the perfect set-up for Yata’s retaliation: they were alone so Yata could deliver whatever line he chose without anyone hearing and making things awkward, and with Fushimi being so clingy it could only be a matter of time before an opportunity presented itself. 

Sure enough, one came. Because alcohol went through his system so quickly, Yata needed to pee pretty much as soon as they got through the door. After he finished his business, he returned to the living room and was instantly embraced in a hug. And something about the circumstances made it seem like the perfect time to use a line Akagi had taught him. 

“I-is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Yata asked, trying to keep the smugness he was feeling from showing on his face. Fushimi tilted his head, and Yata wondered if Fushimi didn’t get the joke. But no, surely he did. It was Fushimi after all. 

“Hmm…” Fushimi said, then he looked Yata dead in the eye and replied, “Why not both?” 

“W-w-w-whaaa?” Yata stammered, because oh dear god what had Fushimi just said, but also now he was beginning to actually feel something for real, but also what the hell, this was NOT how the moment was supposed to go. Fushimi was supposed to be the one getting flustered here, not him! 

“You of all people should know perfectly well that I do carry knives,” Fushimi explained carefully. “And also, I am, as you put it, ‘happy to see you’.” 

“O-oh. Okay,” Yata said. 

“And I do have condoms by the way, in case you wanted to do something about that,” Fushimi continued, because of course he would. “Which I’m assuming is a yes, since you seem to be a little ‘happy to see me’ too.” 

“You’re the worst,” Yata said. But maybe, just a little bit, he didn’t really mind. 


	7. Where They Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An au where Yata left Homra with Fushimi.

Misaki did not fit here. 

It was painfully obvious, and probably the only person who hadn’t realized it was Misaki himself. It was there in the looks in everyone else’s eyes whenever they saw Misaki, full of complete and utter disdain and more than a little disgust. Fushimi had also come from Homra, but when they looked at him, there was suspicion and just a little bit of respect and acknowledgment. They didn’t like that the captain had recruited him, but they understood the reasons why he had. Misaki on the other hand, they just saw as a waste of space, and it grated on Fushimi’s nerves. 

Still, Misaki was stubborn. He stubbornly practiced his sword play even though he was a danger to himself and was more likely to hurt his comrades than his opponents with a blade. He stubbornly kept rewriting the same reports over and over and over again in an attempt to finally get it right. He stubbornly tried to change his way of speaking, tried to change his greetings and remember to call people sir, but he still slipped up and entered fights with “no blood, no bone, no ash,” rather than “Yata, ready for battle.” 

It was admirable, though, the way Misaki kept trying to be someone he so clearly was not, all for the sake of someone he cared about. It made Fushimi feel a little bit ashamed of himself too, that Misaki would go so far for his sake, when Fushimi had been so quick to decide that being in Homra was too suffocating. Surely if Misaki could stifle under all the rules and regulations of Scepter 4, could attempt to change even the most fundamental aspects of himself in order to fit, then Fushimi could have sucked it up and played friends with a few thugs. 

But even if Misaki would never notice, let alone admit that he didn’t belong in Scepter 4, it was still taking an obvious toll on him. The whispers that followed the two of them, the two traitors from Homra, left Misaki shrinking in on himself every time. Misaki would pretend it wasn’t the case, but he did hate himself for betraying Homra, and their whispers only fed his self-loathing. His tanned skin had paled, and was dry and flaky and lusterless. He could barely get up in the mornings, and he would be listless for hours at a time. He didn’t even nag Fushimi about eating vegetables anymore- he simply didn’t have the energy. And Fushimi hated seeing Misaki that way. 

If he’d known it would be like this, he would have said no back then. Back in that alley, where he’d shown up in a blue uniform and told Misaki what it meant, and Misaki had stared at him and had begun throwing angry questions at him, all the “why’s”. Why was Fushimi betraying Homra? Why couldn’t Fushimi just be happy? Why hadn’t Fushimi said anything? Why was Fushimi abandoning him? Why wasn’t Misaki good enough? As Misaki broke down, sobbing out his questions, Fushimi had felt a twinge of guilt at what he was doing, and had started to doubt his convictions. He was miserable in Homra, and wanted to leave, but could he really leave Misaki? 

Before he’d come up with an answer, Misaki had come up with a completely different one, one which shook Fushimi to the core. 

“Why won’t you take me with you?!” Misaki had screamed. 

And so Fushimi had. He’d returned to Scepter 4 headquarters with Yata in tow, stating that they were partners and if Scepter 4 needed his skills then they needed Misaki’s as well, and Munakata had accepted it. They’d been sworn in the next day, and Misaki had done everything in his power to not look back, even though anyone could tell that Homra had suited him better. 

Back then, Fushimi had hated Homra because it was taking Misaki from him. But Misaki had chosen him in the end, and that was enough. 

When he’d joined Scepter 4, Fushimi had sworn that he’d never again walk through the doors of that bar. And yet here he was, doing just that. 

Not much had changed since he’d last been there. In fact, the only things different that were that there was a new photo up on the wall of Bandou and some new guy making peace signs at the camera together, and there was now a collection of masks laid out on the counter. Somehow Fushimi doubted the masks would remain there for long though. Kusanagi still stood behind the bar like always, the smell of something cooking in the kitchen was the same, and the presence of Mikoto lounging on the couch and glaring at the world from above his cigarette remained. 

Somehow, Fushimi had thought that him and Misaki leaving would have a greater impact on Homra. That all photos of the two of them would have been torn from the walls and burned in a rage. That the skateboard Misaki had left behind would have been discarded. That someone else would have filled their place, and there would be some idiot who would be shouting about defying authority like Misaki used to. That maybe the thugs would sober up in the shock of being betrayed. But when he entered the bar, it was like he’d never even left. Kusanagi looked up at his entrance and said “Yo” as if he were just returning from a mission and wasn’t wearing a blue uniform, and the same music played in the background and it was all just as it had been, and that was what pissed him off the most about this place. No, he couldn’t stand to come back here, not even for Misaki. That much was certain. 

“So what brings you here?” Kusanagi asked before Fushimi could turn around and just leave because fuck this place. And since Kusanagi had asked, he might as well say it. It needed to be done, after all. 

“Take Misaki back,” Fushimi demanded bluntly. 

“Ohhhhhh?” Kusanagi said, drawing out the syllable and raising it like a question. There was a knowing upward twitch to his lips, like a pale imitation of Munakata’s own omniscient smirk, and it was maddening to Fushimi. 

“He doesn’t belong in Scepter 4, you know that,” Fushimi continued. “I know that, the captain knows that, everyone in Scepter 4 knows that, hell, the gold king himself probably knows that. He was happier here, with all of you idiots, and he’ll waste away at the rate things are going, so you need to take him back.” 

“And who's to say he won’t just leave us again?” Mikoto asked. And he had a point. Even if Fushimi could convince Misaki to come back, Misaki’s loyalties would still be divided so long as Fushimi remained in Scepter 4. 

“He won’t have reason to,” Fushimi replied, and in that moment, he swore to do whatever it took to ensure Misaki returned to Homra and stayed there, no matter how painful it was. 

But in the end, he didn’t have to. He was thankful for that. He tried to do it, and even barged into their dorm room, ready to instigate a fight with the obvious words, “You don’t belong here,” but when he uttered them, to his surprise, Yata merely sighed heavily and said, “I know.” 

It completely took the wind out of Fushimi’s sails and stole his thunder. 

“No you don’t,” he stated dumbly. 

“C’mon Saru, even I’m not that dumb,” Misaki said tiredly, glaring at Fushimi. It had only half the fire in it compared to how it used to be, even before Homra. “I’m bad at everything here, I mess everything up, and everyone hates me for it. You’re the only person who wants me here. If this is how you felt back at Homra… then I guess it all makes sense now. It just sucks, because you’re my number one, y’know? And just, I wanna share everything with you, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.” 

“Don’t,” Fushimi said. It came out a heated whisper. “Just go back to Homra. You fit in there.” 

“But you don’t like Homra,” Misaki protested. “I don’t want you to be unhappy again, so we can’t go back.” 

“And I can’t let you throw yourself away for me, damnit!” Fushimi shouted, suddenly angry. Misaki could be so dense at times. “Just go by yourself. I’ll be here, and you’ll be there, and maybe we won’t be together all the time but so what? You’ll have your clan and I’ll have mine, and maybe sometimes our clans will fight but it’ll just be a game for us, a challenge to try and see who’s better. So go and get stronger so that I won’t have to worry about you and I can concentrate on doing my job.” 

Misaki’s eyes went wide at Fushimi’s words. It was touching. Misaki really hadn’t considered separation an option at all, had he? 

“But…” Misaki began, then trailed, looking lost. Then all of a sudden, clarity struck, and he grinned. “Heh, aren’t you the one who’s gotta get strong so that I don’t hafta worry about you?” Misaki teased. “How am I supposed to make it up to Homra that I left if I’m always worrying about you and your poor nutrition?” 

Fushimi grinned back, and then both their faces fell as one. When Misaki tugged at Fushimi, pulling him into an awkward embrace, Fushimi let it happen, and hugged Misaki back. 

“I’ll miss you, y’know?” Misaki said. 

“Yeah, me too,” Fushimi admitted. “But I guess it’s time for us to expand our worlds on our own.”


	8. Regarding Sick Days...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Fushimi is forced to take time off due to illness, Scepter 4 ends up taking on a new temp worker.

“Misaki, what the hell are you doing?” Fushimi asks. Misaki starts and bumps his head on the bottom of the table he is routing around under, and he swears. 

“Ah, fuck that hurt,” Misaki grumbles, edging his way out to avoid a second bump. “I was just trying to fix the shredder. It keeps spitting things out without shredding ‘em,” he explains, rubbing his crown. 

“Probably because you have it on reverse,” Fushimi points out. Somehow, the reception he received upon coming into work today makes a bit more sense now… 

For the past two weeks, Fushimi has been out on sick leave. He caught a particularly bad bout of the flu, and was bedridden for most of that time. He’d only barely avoided a hospital stay, it had been that bad. When he’d arrived at work this morning, he’d expected his coworkers to be disheartened by his return, having been grateful for the break from his hostile and surly attitude, but instead he’d been greeted with tears of joy and hugs. They’d even picked him up and carried him on their shoulders to the captain’s office. The captain had mentioned that work had been less than productive in Fushimi’s absence, and Awashima had mentioned something about some volunteer help, but it hadn’t occurred to him until just now that maybe the reason everyone is so happy to see him back is because the volunteer help was far from helpful. 

“Why the hell does a shredder have a reverse?” Misaki asks, fuming. “It’s supposed to shred things, that’s it!” 

“Because sometimes things get stuck and you need to reverse it to get them unstuck,” Fushimi tells him. “But why are you even using the shredder anyway? You can just burn things with your aura.” 

“The cold-hearted woman yelled at me for that. Something about regulations on aura use and the dangers of combustion in an enclosed space. Plus all the pansies around here got all nervous.” Misaki rolls his eyes as he talks about Awashima, then smirks at the last bit. It’s true that the blue clansmen are generally a bit nervous of the red aura- Fushimi has even used that fact in the past to deter his colleagues whenever they start to get too close. 

“Okay, but why are you using _our_ shredder?” Fushimi persists. “Why are you here? You hate Scepter 4.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Misaki snorts. “And filling in for you hasn’t helped any, let me tell you that. They’re so picky.” Misaki wrinkles his nose, and uses a falsetto in a mockery of the blue clansmen. “‘Stop hitting the copier.’ ‘Tuck in your shirt.’ ‘Rewrite the report.’ ‘Button up your collar.’ ‘This isn’t how we do things here at Scepter fucking 4,’” he shrills, before continuing in his own voice. “God they’re annoying. Your captain even insisted I wear one of these stupid fucking uniforms,” Misaki complains, extending an arm and glaring at his sleeve like it had offended him. 

“I’m surprised you’re not covered in hives,” Fushimi drawls, a smile twitching at his lips. “I thought you were allergic to the color blue.” 

“Che. I tried to dye it red but it just turned purple,” Misaki complains. Fushimi barely manages to contain his laughter. 

“If you hate being here and wearing that uniform so much, then why bother?” he asks instead. Misaki’s been evading giving him a real answer, but he’s determined to drag one out of the redhead this time. He’s rewarded with a blush. 

“Y-you were sick,” Misaki mumbles. “And, anyway, I just wanted to help you. You always complain about how much paperwork you have to do yourself…” 

Misaki is just too cute sometimes. 

“Thanks, Misaki,” Fushimi says. “To repay you, how about I take one more day off and take you on a date?” 

“Huh- wh- bu- are you asking me out?” Misaki sputters. Too fucking cute. 

“Am I?” Fushimi asks, grinning. He’s already heading for the door to go request his leave for the day. “Who knows~?” 

“Goddamnit Saru, get back here!” Misaki yells in outrage. Fushimi just giggles and runs for the captain’s office. He gets that day off, and that date. 

And then he spends the next week in the office because apparently his new boyfriend is a human disaster who managed to single-handedly wreak havoc on Scepter 4 and just make more work for everyone instead of less. Still, it was the thought that counted.


	9. Staying in the Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An au where Fushimi opts not to leave after all...

His mind was made up. He was going to do it. He was really going to join Scepter 4. 

It should have been harder really, but the only thing he regretted was something that wouldn’t change even if he stayed. He was no longer Misaki’s world, he’d already been left behind. If he took things one step farther and made Misaki hate him, so what? It wasn’t any worse than being ignored by Misaki, not to him. 

He’d already talked to the blue king and confirmed there was a place waiting for him at Scepter 4. He knew that the red king didn’t care if he stayed or went. All that was left was to get that blue uniform and to tell Misaki and strike the final blow to shatter what friendship they’d had. 

His original plan had been to get the uniform first and then tell Misaki, sure that he’d set off Misaki’s most volatile emotions if he said something like that while wearing that blue coat. But Misaki had called him out before he could put that into action, claiming he had something to say, and now they were standing around outside, just the two of them, and Misaki was wringing his hands and not saying anything at all and so maybe he should just tell Misaki already, get it over with. No more of this “bonds of friendship” farce. 

“I’ve been talking to Mikoto-san,” Misaki finally said. 

He clicked his tongue. Of course Misaki had been talking to that lazy king. What idiocy was going to come from the shorter’s lips this time? How did he intend to praise their “esteemed king”? Misaki just didn’t get it. This was exactly why he wanted to leave Homra. 

But then Misaki didn’t say anything more. Misaki hung on Mikoto’s every word like it was made of gold, repeated them like they were profound revelations, and yet here he was staying quiet, clamming those treasured words inside. 

“I’d congratulate you on your capacity to speak, except you seem to have just lost it,” he sneered. 

“Sh-shut up, this is difficult, okay?” Misaki squawked. The skateboarder hugged himself, then muttered under his breath, “Mikoto-san made it sound like it’d be easy…” 

“If you’re not going to say anything then I’m going home,” he spat. 

“W-wait a second Saruhiko!” Misaki cried. He stopped, just for a moment, but he really would leave if Misaki didn’t speak now or forever hold his peace. “I-I like you, okay.” 

Whatever he’d been expecting Misaki to say, that was not it. 

“I like you. I didn’t figure it out until a little bit ago, but I really do, and I’ve been trying to get advice on how to confess but all the guys would tell me was stupid things like ‘be natural’ or ‘get her flowers’ and I think you’d just burn flowers if I got you any, so…” 

His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. 

“Like me?” he sneered, or rather tried to because he was suddenly breathless and couldn’t muster up his usual disdain. “But you don’t even pay any attention to me anymore.” 

“What do you mean I don’t pay attention to you?” Misaki demanded. 

“You’re never looking.” 

“Th-that’s ‘cuz if I look at you I end up blushing,” Misaki said, and he was blushing as he said it too. “And then everyone asks why I’m all red an’ they make fun of me for it. I can’t help it though! You’re really fucking pretty. And we’re… y’know, adults and all that.” 

“Misaki, we’re 16.” 

“That counts!” 

“It really doesn’t.” 

“Whatever, you’re hot and it can get a little… uncomfortable… being around you, y’know? Like… like… awkward.” 

He almost didn’t catch the hinted meaning, almost was offended, but then he noticed how Yata was fidgeting and something clicked. 

“Perv. Is that why you always wear that hoodie around your waist?” 

“Shut up stupid Saru!” Misaki yelped. 

Ah, this was it. This was what he’d been missing for a while now. 

“Is that any way to ask someone out?” he teased. 

“Che,” Misaki grunted angrily, and then surged up to give him a clumsy kiss that very nearly missed. 

As he kissed Misaki back, Fushimi decided that maybe he wouldn’t end up leaving the red clan after all. 

* * *

**Bonus  
**

It took ten minutes of glaring before Mikoto made eye contact with him. Ten minutes in which everyone in the bar had tried in various ways to get his attention. Misaki had even tried tickling his weak spot, which was cheating, but he would not be deterred. He kept glaring, and Mikoto just kept puffing away on his cigarette, relaxed as could be. 

Finally, Mikoto stubbed out his cigarette and looked him directly in the eye, and he got to his feet. Everyone else in the bar held their breath as he walked up to Mikoto and held out a fist, saying, “I suppose maybe you’re not a completely worthless king after all.” 

“Ah, thanks,” Mikoto said, and bumped the fist back. 

As he turned and walked back to Misaki, he could see the complete confusion on his boyfriend’s face. Misaki didn’t understand, but he didn’t have to. Mikoto had, and he was the only one who needed to. After all, that lazy king had been the one to give Misaki the advice that had prompted the shorter to ask him out. For that, he would acknowledge the king and remain loyal to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I'm a sucker for au's where their relationship never got messed up. Yes I realize that their time apart helped them grow as people and probably made their relationship better in the long run, but it's still nice to imagine them getting to that point without all the hate.


	10. Combustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IZUSERI  
> A college au where Izumo is a natural flirt- except when he's actually trying to flirt. Then he's just an embarrassment to humanity.

“Guuuuuuuys, you gotta help me!” Izumo whined, bursting into the apartment he shared with his friends and flopping dramatically over the kitchenette counter. He would have gone for the couch, but it was occupied by Mikoto and about a dozen different textbooks. He might have tried the tiny table they’d crammed in as well, but Tatara had taken over three quarters with his calligraphy assignment, and the remaining space was stacked with sandwiches which Izumo assumed would be their dinner. 

“What is it this time?” Mikoto muttered, scratching his head with his pencil and not even looking up from the textbook he was poring over. Despite all appearances, Mikoto was surprisingly studious, not to mention he’d been done with Izumo’s problems since about a month after they had first become apparent, and that had been almost four years ago. 

“You didn’t accidentally ask someone out again, did you?” Tatara asked more sympathetically as he finished off the stroke he’d been working on with a flourish. He examined his work critically before nodding in satisfaction and turning to his troubled friend and flatmate. 

“No,” Izumo moaned. “It’s more like I was actually trying to for once and failed miserably.” 

“Oh dear,” Tatara said. “Well, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” 

“No, it’s probably worse,” Izumo whined. He knew he was being dramatic, but that was just the mood he was in. “You weren’t there, so you didn’t hear me. It was awful. I ended up using lines, and some of the worst ones too. Like the fallen angel, and alphabet.” 

Mikoto released a sharp bray of laughter. 

“There, there,” Tatara soothed, ignoring their less-than-helpful roommate. “It’s all alright. Everything will work out fine.” 

“You always say that,” Izumo whimpered, but he at least got off the counter, dislodging a smattering of envelopes and advertisements that had been in the mail the past week. They really needed to clean the place up. 

“Well that’s because it’s always true,” Tatara replied brightly. 

“Tatara, she looked at me like I was something that had crawled out of a toilet,” Izumo replied. “She told me that ‘pick-up lines are only used by those pathetic individuals who lack the moral character to properly socialize’. She called me ‘an undeveloped and inept attempt at human life’. Those are actual quotes!” 

“Damn, sounds like she really does hate you,” Mikoto said with a whistle. 

“Don’t you sound so awed, this is all your fault!” Izumo cried. And yeah, it really was Mikoto’s fault. It was Mikoto who, back when they were in high school, had found it amusing to follow Izumo around while reading off pick-up lines. He’d known fully well that Izumo was good at absorbing information and would remember the lines whether he wanted to or not. 

“Well at least she didn’t slap you, did she?” Mikoto replied with a shrug. He then changed the subject, saying, “Hey, since you’re in the kitchen, would you mind getting me a beer?” 

“Aren’t you trying to study?” Izumo asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“You’re too distracting, and will be for a while,” Mikoto told him. “It was about time for a break anyway, I might as well enjoy myself a bit. And with you having hysterics, I’ve got free entertainment so all I need’s a beer.” 

“You suck,” Izumo replied, obediently retrieving a can of beer and tossing it across the room at Mikoto. “I hope that sprays all over you.” 

“Now, now, let’s not fight,” Tatara said. “Though maybe you should have one yourself, Izumo. It might help you calm down a bit.” 

“Are you kidding? You know he’s a weepy drunk,” Mikoto shot back. 

“I’m good,” Izumo assured them. “It’s not like I’ll be seeing her again any time soon, so I’ll get over it in no time, I’m sure.” 

* * *

Two days later, Izumo was eating his words. He had a job at one of the campus libraries, a pretty sweet position to have since he could do his homework at work and there was a coffee shop in the basement whenever he needed a little extra pep. And today, there were two new employees that he was supposed to train. 

The first to arrive was a small girl, a little shy, who was very much your stereotypical bookworm with her glasses and owlish eyes. She introduced herself as Yayoi Yoshino, and giggled when he called her mademoiselle and blushed when he complimented her cardigan. All in all, he felt like they could probably get along pretty well. He was actually kinda looking forward to training the new hires. 

And then the second newbie arrived, and everything went to hell right away. 

The first chance he got, Izumo slipped into the bathroom to call Tatara. 

“Izumo, I have class in five minutes, now’s not a good time,” Tatara warned as he answered the phone. 

“She’s here!” Izumo hissed back. “Seri Awashima! The girl I seriously messed up with the other day!” 

“Oh,” Tatara said, because what else could he say? “Like, she’s visiting the library?” 

“No! Like, she’s one of the new hires I’m supposed to train! Tatara, what do I doooo?” 

“Stop panicking, for one,” Tatara said, gently but firmly taking charge. “If you panic, you’ll break out more of Mikoto’s lines, so unless you want to start asking her if she’s a parking ticket, you’re gonna need to calm down, okay?” 

“Ugh, why did you have to remind me of that one?” Izumo groaned. “It’s really terrible.” 

“I know it is, and I don’t want another call later because you were stupid enough to use it,” Tatara replied. “Which is why you need to relax. Think before you speak to make sure what you are saying is relevant. Be polite. I’d tell you to be sincere too, but you already blew it with this one, so just stick with polite. Do that, and everything will be just fine. Now I’ve gotta go, my professor’s coming down the hall.” 

“Alright, thanks man,” Izumo sighed. “See you later, assuming I don’t get murdered in retaliation for my big mouth.” 

All in all, the shift didn’t go that bad. Seri was exceedingly businesslike, and so he ended up talking to her only when explaining things about their duties and answering her few questions. Yayoi on the other hand was clearly nervous, and so Izumo naturally spent more time talking to her, reassuring her that she was doing things right and trying to create an easy atmosphere to help the girl relax. Luckily, when he was talking to a girl he wasn’t interested in dating, he was good at that. With Yayoi, he could give compliments freely and sincerely, and she was fun to talk to. He spent a lot of time talking to her, enjoying her company and building what he thought could be a pleasant friendship. It would be nice having someone like her working one of the other desks during the same shift. 

Because their shift ended late, Izumo offered to walk the two girls home. After all, college campuses weren’t very safe after dark. Yayoi gladly accepted, admitting that she’d been nervous about the prospect of crossing campus on her own, and Seri silently fell in alongside them as they headed out. Surprisingly, Seri was more than happy to chat with Yayoi as the three of them walked to the shyer girl’s dorm. Izumo actually felt kinda awkward, like he was intruding on their friendship. Or, oh heavens, what if they were dating and he’d completely missed it and now he seemed like an enormous tool and- 

“You’re not quite what I thought at first,” Seri’s voice said, cutting into Izumo’s panic. And oh wait, they were walking away from Yayoi’s dorm. Had he said goodbye? He had, right? That would be rude if he hadn’t. 

“Er, how so?” Izumo asked. He shifted uncomfortably, desperately trying to remember Tatara’s advice. Right, he needed to think before speaking. Easy. Except it was really hard to think when talking to someone as beautiful and intimidating as Seri Awashima. Seriously, she was like ice. 

“You’re not a complete degenerate,” Seri replied. 

“Come again?” Izumo asked. Because had he really come off as degenerate? Yikes. He really was lucky she hadn’t slapped him before. 

“A fuckboy,” Seri clarified, and Izumo almost choked on his own spit to hear such a word come from Seri. When he glanced over she had an amused glint in her eyes. 

“Er, sorry for, uh, that,” Izumo said, cringing both at his past self and also at his current tongue-tied predicament. Seriously, any other time he was quite loquacious, but when it counted most his silver tongue always turned to lead. “I’m kinda… bad. With women. I mean, women who are, that is, uh… Yayoi’s cute! I’m not saying she’s ugly or anything, she’s just not really my type, and so it’s easy to talk to her, but you’re-” He cut himself off before he embarrassed himself any further with his babbling. Why couldn’t he find the goddamn happy medium of how much to talk?! 

“I’m 'well-endowed', is it?” Seri asked. It was clear she'd heard several "compliments" along those lines before. 

“Huh? Well, there’s that too, but like, you’ve got really nice eyes,” Izumo said, blushing. “Like, they seem like they can glare right through you, which is terrifying, but when I first saw you talking with your friends, there was a lot of warmth in your eyes and… I dunno, I thought you must be a really nice person. Someone who cares a lot. And just, being like that, both the not taking any shit and the kindness, that just seems really admirable to me.” 

Seri was silent for a moment before responding. 

“Thank you. I’d try to reciprocate the compliment but unfortunately you hide your own eyes behind tinted lenses.” 

“Ah, yeah, my eyes are a bit sensitive to light,” Izumo admitted. “I get less headaches with the glasses on.” 

“I see,” Seri said. “Well, this is actually my building here. But before you go…” Seri pulled a notepad out of her backpack and quick wrote something down. “As coworkers, it might be useful for you to have this,” she said, handing over the paper with a small smile. “My evaluation of your character is still rather unfavorable, but perhaps you will manage to raise my opinion of you as we get to know one another.” 

“Right,” Izumo said, barely noting that the paper contained the digits of a phone number. “T-thanks. Uh, see you at work sometime.” 

As Seri went inside, Izumo realized he wouldn’t be getting over her in no time after all. But still, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, since he might just have a chance after all.


	11. Three Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yata makes a mortifying mistake during a Coffee Table Alliance game night.

In the days since the Slates had been destroyed, somehow, the Coffee Table Alliance had lingered. It took the form of spontaneous group outings and random gatherings, such as the time Neko decided to take Anna to the zoo and before long the former silver, red, and even blue clans had all descended upon the nearest zoo. And somehow now whenever the blue clan had seasonal activities like their cherry blossom viewing and their autumn leaf viewing and such, the reds and silvers would “just happen to” show up. The three clans were practically joined at the hip nowadays, for better or for worse. 

As far as Fushimi was concerned, the “for better” part was because, having finally patched things up with Misaki, it meant that at least he had his boyfriend around to take the edge of the torturous scenarios. The “for worse” part was that the scenarios even happened to begin with, because who in their right mind actually enjoyed socializing, let alone socializing with a bunch of idiots, even bigger idiots, and the most idiotic idiots to ever idiot? Well, Misaki seemed to like it well enough, but he definitely wasn’t in his right mind. Case and point: he was dating Fushimi wasn’t he? 

Lately, given the way the weather had been cold and miserable as the autumn drew to a close, the trend among the former clans had become game nights. Not video games, which Fushimi might have actually found tolerable, but board games, card games, drinking games, improv games, and basically any type of game that _didn’t_ involve technology. It was like they were deliberately trying to make Fushimi miserable. His only hope was to cling to Misaki’s side and hope that his adorably imbecilic boyfriend wouldn’t choose to partake in any games that were _too_ humiliating. It tended to be a vain hope. 

Tonight at least, Misaki had chosen something semi-decent. The game was played in pairs, with the aim being for one half of the pair to describe a word or phrase in a roundabout way while the other half of the pair would try and guess it. They would be given a time limit and would gain points for every correctly guessed phrase within that limit. It was a bit challenging to Fushimi, trying to put things simplistically enough for Misaki to guess, but they were managing well enough. According to the tally kept by the scorekeeper- aka Munakata, who wasn’t allowed to participate in game night for obvious reasons that the red and silver clans had had to learn about the hard way- they were even winning, though only by a small margin. 

Currently it was Fushimi’s turn to describe the phrases. They’d already scored three new points when the phrase “I Love You” showed up on the next card. And despite the fact that Fushimi didn’t believe in fate or destiny or any such bullshit, he’d almost have sworn this card was meant for the two of them. 

Since the start of their relationship, Fushimi had discovered a few very important things. One was that he loved to hear the words “I love you”. Three simple words, and yet they could buoy him up to heights he’d never known before. He didn’t deserve those words, especially not from Misaki, and yet he got them anyway, freely given. They meant so much to him. 

Another thing he’d learned was that he liked saying those words even better than hearing them. Part of it was that the phrase was cathartic, a means of releasing some of the overwhelming feelings that flooded him as a result of the simplest of things sometimes. Part of it was because he was in awe that he could have such a feeling to begin with, and that he could act on it without it being destroyed in front of his eyes. It was okay for him to love Misaki, and that never grew old to him. But, most of all, the reason he loved saying “I love you” was because of the blushing mess it turned Misaki into. No matter how much their relationship progressed, those three words could have the color of Misaki’s face turn a shade that made a beet look pale in comparison. And then Misaki would stutter out a response, like “S-stop that, it’s embarrassing!” or “S-shut up!” or even the occasional “Y-yeah, you t-too,” and he was just so adorable. 

So to have that phrase come up in the midst of this game, it felt right, somehow. At least, to Fushimi it did. Because thanks to this game he had a means of hearing that wonderful phrase spoken to him by the person who was his world, and in public to boot. Misaki was very cautious of using those words in public. This was gonna be great. 

“It’s a three word phrase,” Fushimi began, starting off with the most sensible clue. “It’s commonly spoken between couples who are intimate. It makes me very happy when you say it to me. You get embarrassed whenever I say it to you. I also wish you would say it to me more, since I rather like hearing it.” 

As always, Misaki’s face was completely transparent and easy to read. He was frowning, puzzled, pondering the clues as he tried to figure out what Fushimi was getting at. 

“Also, whenever either of us says it, you always end up blushing,” Fushimi added. “Quite a bit, I might add.” 

It was possible to see the exact moment Misaki picked up on his meaning. His eyes went wide, and there was a sudden spark of understanding in them as his mouth formed and “o” shape. He nodded slowly, clearly double checking inside his head that his answer fit all the clues, and then- 

“Let’s have sex!” Misaki blurted out. 

Fushimi froze. The other players froze. Around the room, the clansmen playing various other games all froze. The only person who moved at all was Kusanagi, who calmly clapped his hands over Anna’s ears and sent a murderous smile in the direction of their table. A strangled noise left Fushimi’s throat as he tried to find words and failed. 

“Incorrect,” Munakata said, finally breaking the silence. And as if that word were some sort of trigger, everyone in the room burst out into hearty guffaws. 

Well, almost everyone. The black dog was off to the side looking properly affronted by such a scandalous event. 

“Whaddaya mean, incorrect?” Misaki protested over the laughter. 

“That is not the phrase you need to get the point,” Munakata responded calmly. 

“But what…?” Misaki asked, frowning again in confusion. 

“Misaki you idiot,” Fushimi growled, but despite his low tone Misaki still heard. That was the good thing about Misaki inheriting his mother’s hearing. “How on earth did you get ‘let’s have sex’ from that?” 

Actually, Fushimi could almost understand how Misaki had gotten that answer from the clues he’d been given. But why was that the _first_ thing that popped into his mind? Honestly. Sometimes, Fushimi wondered if Misaki’s beanie wasn’t too tight, depriving his brain of oxygen and killing his limited brain cells one at a time. 

“Well what else is it supposed to mean?” Misaki squawked back. “Every time we talk about that stuff you end up teasing me and saying I still blush like a virgin, and you’re always complaining that I don’t initiate as much, and what’s more intimate than that?” 

The laughter, which had been petering out, rose up anew, and Fushimi let his head fall into his hands. He was going to kill Misaki for this one, really he was. 

“Misaki, I love you, but please just stop,” Fushimi seethed. 

“Bwah-” Misaki said, half-protesting and half-confused and a little bit hurt too, but before he could formulate a proper response, Munakata interrupted him. 

“That was a close call, Fushimi-kun,” Munakata said. “You used the phrase you were supposed to be making him guess, which would lose you a point, but you uttered it precisely one second after you ran out of time. That puts you at three points for this round.” 

“Wait, what was the phrase?” Misaki asked, blinking owlishly as he tried to figure it out. 

“I love you,” Fushimi repeated. “It was ‘I love you’, you idiot.” 

“Uh, Saru,” Misaki said, hesitantly, a pitying expression on his face. “That’s five words.” He held up his hand, lifting a finger with each word he spoke, “‘I. Love. You. You. Idiot.’ See? Five words.” 

“You know what, forget it,” Fushimi sighed. 

As the game moved on yet the snickers from their clansmen continued, Fushimi was more convinced than ever that these game nights were meant to be a form of torture. 

Five minutes later, when it seemed like the incident might finally be forgotten, Misaki’s eyes lit up again and he suddenly interrupted Kamamoto and Douymyouji’s turn to blurt out, “Ohhhhhhhhh, it was just ‘I love you!’ Heh. Okay.” He grinned and made eye contact with Fushimi, who was contemplating whether to A) crawl into a hole and die, B) murder everyone here so they couldn’t tease him about his boyfriend’s idiocy in the future, or C) start looking for a new boyfriend who wouldn’t do this shit to him. “I-if you like me saying it so much then I guess I can try and tell you more,” Misaki continued, and Fushimi felt his breath catch. “I, y’know, l-love you, Saru. Or something.” 

Fushimi couldn’t help smiling at that. He decided to disregard the choices he’d been considering and settle for option D) do everything he could to make sure he didn’t ever lose this amazing idiot he’d fallen in love with.


	12. Melting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MIKOREI (kinda. it's more implied)  
> After accidentally revealing his powers of ice during his coronation, Reisi runs away to where he won't hurt anyone ever again.  
> OR The "Frozen" au no one asked for but this trash of a writer couldn't resist :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Reisi came out a little ooc. Hopefully it makes sense in context, but... yeah. Sorry 'bout that.

The ice castle he’d made with his powers suited him. It was cold and empty, just like he was, and it had perfect order to it. It was a place where he could live in solitude, and no one would ever be harmed by him again. 

He could still see the shock of the moment when his coronation ball had all gone wrong, the damage he’d caused and the fear in the eyes of all the guests. The way the fight that had broken out had frozen metaphorically, everyone terrified by the way Reisi had literally frozen the moisture in the air to create jagged icicles spiking from the ground. He hadn’t meant to do it; his power just overwhelmed him sometimes, cued by his emotions. And in that moment, he’d felt… not quite anger, but irritation, that his guests would start a fight and that his knights would get involved. That was all it took. His delicate emotional balance was upset, and before he knew it, he’d used his power and there were spikes of ice at the throats of several of the guests, and a trail of ice along the floor leading from the spikes back to Reisi. Everyone had been terrified, as they ought to be. He was dangerous. 

At that point, there’d been only one thing left to do: he’d fled. Seri had run after him, calling for him to stop, to wait, to come back. But there was no going back, and he knew that, even if she hadn’t realized it yet. Everyone would be better off without him. Seri could be their queen; she’d do well enough as a leader, especially with the knights to aid her. Meanwhile he’d be king of the frozen wastes instead of Erendale, and that was fine. 

It had already been a full day since then, and Reisi wasn’t sure how to feel. He was relieved to finally be free of the burden of keeping his powers secret and under control, free of the days spent keeping his distance from those who were most dear to him, lest he hurt them. But at the same time, he missed them. Even if he hadn’t spoken to them much, he’d watched them every day, listened to their lively chatter. Here, there was no sound but the howling of the winds outside. It was lonely. Still, it was his home now. 

Distantly, Reisi heard a few dull thumps. He hoped it wasn’t birds being blown into the side of the castle by the wind; they didn’t deserve that. What a shame he didn’t have better control over his power so he could reign in the winds to stop them from harming the innocent. 

He was just pondering important issues such as how he was going to get food from now on- perhaps he could send snow golems to acquire food for him?- when a voice spoke from behind him, saying “Knock knock.” 

Reisi jumped, his heart threatening to hammer out of his chest. To hear a voice here where he was supposed to be isolated was a shock, and to hear _that_ voice in particular… If he didn’t know he was perfectly sane, albeit a little bit emotionally unstable, he would think he had become delusional and was hallucinating. Because that voice belonged to none other than Mikoto Suoh. 

Reisi had first met Mikoto at a diplomatic meeting when they were still children, before Reisi’s powers had proven too unruly for even his control. Mikoto was from an exotic far off land, with blazing summers and mild winters. The two had played together, and in the years that followed, Reisi had made sure to keep up correspondence, even if Mikoto’s letters were always terse and complained of boredom. Those letters had helped Reisi through some of the more miserable hours as he feared the consequences of what his power might do. He’d been pleased to discover Mikoto would be coming to his coronation, and he had been most impressed to see the man Mikoto had grown into; he’d gone from a sullen child to a strapping young man with chiseled features and keen eyes and Reisi had almost swooned when Mikoto came to his side to make the obligatory greeting. 

And now, as Reisi saw when he turned to face the voice he’d heard, that same handsome man was here. In his ice castle. In danger from his powers. 

“Nice place you got,” Mikoto said, glancing up at the ice chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “Could use a little color though.” 

“I’m not looking to entertain,” Reisi replied. “This place is for me and me alone. Anyone else who comes in will be in danger from my power. Leave now, before you get hurt, Suoh.” 

“Nah, I don’t think I’m really in any danger,” Mikoto replied. “You don’t wanna hurt me.” 

“No, I don’t, but I can’t control this power, Suoh!” Reisi argued, his voice rising. In response, a few ice stalagmites inched up from the floor, and the chandelier above began to shake. 

“Sure you can, you just need a little help,” Mikoto replied, and a breath later, he was right in front of Reisi leaning in alarmingly close. And perhaps Reisi wasn’t so sane after all, because this certainly felt like a fantasy. “I can teach you that.” 

“Y-you can?” Reisi stuttered, and since when did he stutter? Or utter such a dismally constructed sentence for that matter? 

“Sure, come with me,” Mikoto said. He stepped back and held out a hand with a smirk, and Reisi dazedly found himself taking the hand and following where Mikoto led. 

“We’re the same you know, you and I,” Mikoto said as they walked through the halls, making their way towards the entrance. “Or maybe it’s better to say we’re opposites. You were born with ice. I was born with fire. A few years ago, I did the same thing you’re doing now and lost it. Turned winter to summer, so hot that wells were drying up and fires were breaking out. People were dying. Mighta destroyed my whole kingdom if it hadn’t been for one thing. 

“What’s that?” Reisi asked. 

“Guess you could call it love,” Mikoto said, and Reisi felt his stomach drop. Oh. Mikoto was in love with someone else, wasn’t he? “Of a sort, anyway,” Mikoto added, throwing a teasing grin over his shoulder. “And from the looks of things, you’ve got the same thing with your knights.” 

The knights? Reisi frowned, confused. He didn’t love- 

They’d reached the entrance, and Mikoto pushed open the doors to reveal two groups of people waiting at the bottom of the ice staircase. One one side was a small cluster who stood on a patch of melted snow, looking casual: guests who’d accompanied Mikoto from his kingdom. On the other stood a neat line of uniformed men with one woman stationed in front of them, all in parade rest: the knights, led by Seri. As Reisi and Mikoto emerged, the knights all snapped to attention, saluting their prince. No, their king. 

So that was what Mikoto had meant. He could see it in the way Mikoto grinned down at his guests and they all grinned and waved back. Reisi had forgotten that camaraderie could be a kind of love too. In that case, yes, he did love his knights. They were so dear to him. 

“But… I still don’t understand,” Reisi said. Mikoto raised an eyebrow, and then beckoned to his group. A young girl detached herself from them and approached, dropping a quick curtsy to Reisi before going to Mikoto’s side and clinging to his leg. Mikoto fondly put a hand on her head. 

“Whaddaya think, Anna?” Mikoto asked. Reisi only felt more confused, but then the girl spoke. 

“Your power isn’t meant to be feared,” she addressed Reisi. “Because you fear losing control, you cannot control it. If you don’t fear it, it will be yours. You’ll probably be able to use it even better than Mikoto.” 

“Was that last part really necessary?” Mikoto asked the girl, scowling down at her and pushing on her head a little. The girl ducked out from under his hand and looked back up at him innocently. “Brat,” Mikoto muttered, but his voice was fond. 

“Think about using your power for the ones you love,” Anna added, and then turned her gaze pointedly towards the knights. Reisi’s eyes followed, and he looked down at his loyal knights who had followed him here, who still stood waiting for his acknowledgement. He felt a warmth growing in his heart, a peace that soothed his fear. Even if he was dangerous, they still cared for him. He nodded to them, and they relaxed. Unnoticed by Reisi, the winds began to die down. He walked forward, descending the stairs to his knights’ sides. When he reached them, they all dropped down to one knee in a show of fealty. 

“Your majesty, please accompany us back to the kingdom,” Seri said. “Lord Hisui has been attempting to usurp your power in your absence, and must be dealt with. Furthermore, the people are concerned for their new king’s wellbeing. Please come with us and reassure them.” 

“Very well,” Reisi replied, and far away, the fjords began to thaw. “It would be rather rude to keep our guests out here for no reason after all,” he added, inclining his head to Mikoto’s posse. 

“Indeed,” Seri agreed, though she didn’t sound at all concerned about the guests. Probably because they were the same ones who’d started the fight at the coronation ball. “Also, if you’ll forgive my impertinence sir…” Seri trailed off, then suddenly stepped forward to give Reisi a hug. It had been years since Reisi had last embraced his sister, and he indulged himself to hug her back. 

As the knights moved into formation around Reisi and the guests, Reisi found his eye being caught by Mikoto, who smiled knowingly at him. He smiled back, a secret shared between the two of them. He thought he understood now how to control his power. 

But just in case, he’d ask Mikoto to stick around. After all, if they were opposites, perhaps Mikoto could counter his ice should he lose control again. And while he had the love of friendship for his knights and the love of a brother for Seri, it would be good to learn about romantic love too. For the good of his kingdom, of course.


	13. Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fushimi and Yata have a peculiar and disruptive courtship ritual.

Scepter 4 was just finishing up the sedation of a strain who had lost control of their earthquake powers when there was the sound of wheels on pavement. There was only one person who would be skateboarding in a place where the ground was a mess from the strain, and where up until a minute ago there was chaos: Homra’s Yatagarasu. 

Before anyone had time to do anything more than wonder if the red vanguard was there to pick a fight, he had stopped his board next to Fushimi and slung the third-in-command over his shoulder. 

“Yo stinky blues, I’m stealing this guy!” Yata proclaimed proudly, the hand that wasn’t supporting his hold on his nemesis cupped around his mouth. 

Many hands reached for swords, before their owners realized that it would be difficult to attack the vanguard without risking Fushimi as well. And none of them liked the idea of trying to handle all the paperwork Fushimi processed. Besides, Fushimi could take care of himself. As the rest of the squad all tried to think, Fushimi was surely reaching for one of his many hidden knives and planning a strategic bit of fighting to break free. Yes, there was no need to worry about the third-in-command. If anything, they should be worrying about Yatagarasu, instead. 

“You know, most people refer to stealing a person as ‘abduction’ or in idiot’s terms, ‘kidnapping’, and it’s considered a crime,” Fushimi drawled boredly, hanging limply and not even moving. He must be trying to lure the vanguard into a false sense of security before striking back. 

“You say everything I do is a crime,” Yata griped, shaking his captive a bit. 

“Because a lot of you hooligans’ activities _are_ illegal,” Fushimi pointed out, grimacing at the treatment. “Also, this is rather uncomfortable. Your bony shoulder is digging into my ribs, I feel like I’m going to be cut in half.” 

“Haaaaa?” Yata snarled, twisting to try and glare at Fushimi despite the fact that the way he was holding the blue left Fushimi’s upper half hanging over his back. “You’re the one who’s bony! That’s what happens when you never eat right!” 

“Should you really be complaining?” Fushimi retorted. “If I were any heavier your tiny frame wouldn’t be able to carry me.” 

“I’m stronger than I look!” Yata crowed, using his free arm to jab himself in the chest with his thumb. “I bet I could carry you even if you were the size of a sumo wrestler!” 

The members of the blue clan were beginning to have a lot of questions. Namely, was this kidnapping or abduction or theft or whatever actually going to happen, and was it actually something they needed to prevent? 

“I very much doubt that,” Fushimi drawled, propping his elbow against Yata’s back so he could rest his chin on a hand. 

“Whatever, shut up,” Yata growled. “Anyway, I’m taking this guy and that’s that! See ya, chumps!” he yelled at the rest of the blues, before jumping back on his skateboard and shooting off down the road with a burst of red flame. 

Fushimi was back at work the next day, his collar actually buttoned for once, the bags under his eyes less prominent, and his mood strangely cheerful. No one felt like questioning it, and so life went on at Scepter 4 as usual. 

Until, three days later, when it happened again. 

“I’m taking this as my prize!” Yata yelled. 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to properly carry someone, Misaki?” Fushimi asked as Yata began to roll away. His voice trailed behind him as his complaints continued. “Only an idiot would sling someone over their shoulder like this. Don’t you realize how demeaning it is to be carried like a sack of potatoes?” 

And then a week after that, Yata even broke into Scepter 4 headquarters to boldly carry off their third-in-command, whose only comment was, “Misaki, I have work to do, you know.” 

At this point, most of Scepter 4 had caught on to what was actually going on. The fact that Fushimi’s collar couldn’t hide all the hickeys might have had something to do with it. So the next time there was a confrontation with Homra, Fuse took the opportunity to ask Bandou, who he was fighting with, “Could you PLEASE teach your vanguard to ask people out like a normal person instead of kidnapping Fushimi every time he wants a date?” 

Unfortunately, while Scepter 4 had caught on, not everyone in Homra had. Specifically, Bandou hadn’t. His response was, “What the hell are you talking about? Yata hates Fushimi, no way he’d ask him out.” 

Hidaka had a similar idea, and was met by a snort and a comment from Eric of, “See, that’s your problem, you just assumed that chihuahua knows how to act normal.” 

Awashima, of course, made a formal request to Kusanagi that he put an end to things as Homra’s lieutenant, but was refused. 

“Sorry, Seri-chan, but Yata-chan thinks no one’s the wiser about him and Fushimi screwing each other, and I figure it’s probably better to keep it that way. If he knew it wasn’t a secret, I’m worried those two would get carried away anywhere and everywhere, and Anna-chan’s still young and impressionable and I’d rather not ruin her innocence just yet.” 

It was hard to argue with that. 

Doumyouji also brought the matter up to Kamamoto, since the two had hit it off when the two clans had teamed up before, though Doumyouji wasn’t so much complaining as he was amused by the whole thing. 

“Yeah, I think Yata-san thinks he’s being romantic by doing that,” Kamamoto admitted. 

“Well, Fushimi-san certainly doesn’t seem to mind,” Doumyouji laughed. And he was right, the bespectacled grump certainly didn’t. 

And, well, everyone had to admit, it wasn’t like productivity at Scepter 4 had gone down at all. Fushimi, who had already been capable of doing so much work there had been jokes about him secretly being an android, upped his productivity to an inhuman level just to make sure he didn’t fall behind whenever Yata showed up to take him on another little escapade. Not only that, but his mood was better, so it was really a win for everyone, wasn’t it?


	14. Kings of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mikorei sequel to the previous chapter "Stolen": Seeing the Fushimi/Yata courtship ritual, Munakata begins to feel that his own relationship has gotten a bit dull.

The gold king stood in front of Munakata, hands folded calmly behind his back as he surveyed the wreckage in front of them. Kokujouji was facing away from him, and yet Munakata found himself wanting to squirm, much like the way his subordinates tended to when he fixed them with his own gaze. He knew the old man hadn’t forgotten him, and was perfectly aware of his presence there. 

“Hmph,” Kukoujouji said, ever the grumpy old man. “For a king whose attribute is order, you sure know how to cause a lot of chaos, Reisi.” 

Munakata cringed, unable to argue with that in this instance. Sure, Suoh had done most of the actual damage, but Munakata hadn’t exactly gone to great pains to stop him. In fact, Munakata might even be guilty of encouraging him. And since it had been Munakata’s own words that had started all this nonsense in the first place… 

Munakata and Suoh had gotten off to a bad start. They’d mutually agreed to dislike each other, and that had been that. ...until one night when Suoh suddenly turned up in Munakata’s rooms at Scepter 4, annoyed at having to make the first romantic move. The next morning ended up being the first time in his life that Reisi was ever late to anything, and it was also the first time that the prospect of being late hadn’t bothered him. In fact, actually getting to work had felt like quite the chore. 

Since then, there had been a few repeats here and there, but Munakata was a busy man and Mikoto was busy avoiding being busy, and so they didn’t have a lot of time for more than the occasional date here and there, usually after a fight between their two clans. After all, calling each other like a normal couple simply wasn’t their style. 

But then Fushimi and Yata had happened. Certainly Munakata had seen it coming- it was more surprising that there were people who _hadn’t_ seen it coming, the two were that obvious about their feelings- it was just that, what with Fushimi’s psychological traumas and Yata’s pridefulness, he had expected them to take longer. And he certainly hadn’t expected them to so daringly go on escapades of an intimate nature in such a bold-faced way. 

Munakata may have been of the opinion that this was a positive result, and he really couldn’t make any complaints, and yet… 

And yet he still found himself trying to come up with new regulations that would forbid Fushimi from dating Yata while still allowing Munakata to legitimately keep dating Suoh without relying on any sort of “King’s Exemption”. He soon gave up, because it was completely unethical and left him most chagrined, but it had happened. It was shameful to admit it, but he was jealous of them. Insanely so. 

But was it really so much to ask for some intimate escapades of his own? He didn’t think so. 

The problem was, with his partner, Munakata would most likely have to initiate. So he did. He tracked Suoh down as he was loitering about as usual, and hefted him over a shoulder the same way Yata had been doing to Fushimi in hopes that Suoh would get the idea and go along with it. Suoh certainly went along with it, but he apparently didn’t get the idea, because he fell asleep there. Munakata had forgotten Suoh’s propensity for napping and his ability to sleep anywhere. He really ought to suggest Suoh get tested for narcolepsy. 

By the time Suoh had woken up, Munakata had completely lost all interest in anything romantic, and an argument ensued. It was calm, no aura usage involved for once since Suoh was still sleepy and didn’t rise to any of Munakata’s jibes, so Munakata was able to make his complaints unfettered. All he wanted was for them to add a little spice to their relationship and do something fun and exciting; that’s what he told Suoh. In the end he’d sent Suoh home, and had thought that had been the end of it. 

Until this morning. 

The alarm had been raised that Homra was causing trouble _again_ , and so they’d moved out, ready to deal with whatever carnage the red clan had wrought. However, when they arrived on scene, they’d found the red clan members scattered in front of the debris, not chanting any battle cries and looking thoroughly embarrassed. Their lieutenant had coughed and pointed behind them and informed Munakata that their king was “back there” and had respectfully requested that no one else accompany him “for their own wellbeing”. 

He hadn’t expected to find Suoh sitting peacefully in a crater, wearing nothing but his skin and clenching a red rose in his teeth. He’d reached up and removed the rose long enough to say with raised eyebrows, “Exciting enough for ya?” 

“Suoh, there is exciting, and there is inappropriate,” Munakata had replied. “This is the latter. Now please put on some clothes.” 

“Don’t got any,” Suoh replied. No wonder the red clan had looked so embarrassed if they’d had to escort their naked king here. 

“Then wear this,” Munakata sighed, removing his coat and tossing it to Suoh. “Boyfriend clothes are supposed to be comfortable, right?” 

“Make me,” Suoh had said, and summoned up his aura and his sword. Or rather, his other sword, the one bestowed upon him by the slates which made him a king. 

Their fight had lasted for almost two hours, had destroyed multiple districts and caused a city-wide evacuation order to be issued, and had left all witnesses traumatized. And yet instead of being ashamed, Munakata felt invigorated. He was actually more than a little irked that Kokujouji and his “rabbits” had intervened and put and end to all this mess. 

And now, while some of the rabbits forced a reluctant Suoh into a yukata they’d brought with them, Munakata was left facing the consequences of their actions in front of someone who had the power to actually discipline the both of them, _and_ tell Munakata’s family about the whole thing to boot. And normally he was pretty shameless and didn’t mind, but what if his niece and nephew overheard? 

“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again,” Munakata apologized. 

“Hmph,” Kokujouji snorted, disbelieving. To be fair, Munakata wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He finally turned, not even glancing at Munakata as he brushed past the younger king, leaving with a parting mutter of, “I would have thought that dating would make the two of you less destructive, not more.” 

Still, Munakata could not say he regretted any of it. Especially not after he saw Suoh wearing that yukata.


End file.
